SCENE I
Dorothy, R., at tambour; Anthony, C., bestriding chair; Miss Foster, L.C.
Anthony. Yes, ma’am, I like my regiment: we are all gentlemen, from old Fred downwards, and all of a good family. Indeed, so are all my friends, except one tailor sort of fellow, Bosbury. But I’m done with him. I assure you, Aunt Evelina, we are Corinthian to the last degree. I wouldn’t shock you ladies for the world—
Miss Foster. Don’t mind me, my dear; go on.
Anthony. Really, ma’am, you must pardon me: I trust I understand what topics are to be avoided among females—And before my sister, too! A girl of her age!
Dorothy. Why, you dear, silly fellow, I’m old enough to be your mother.
Anthony. My dear Dolly, you do not understand; you are not a man of the world. But, as I was going on to say, there is no more spicy regiment in the service.
Miss Foster. I am not surprised that it maintains its old reputation. You know, my dear (to Dorothy), it was George Austin’s regiment.
Dorothy. Was it, aunt?
Anthony. Beau Austin? Yes, it was; and a precious dust they make about him still—a parcel of old frumps! That’s why I went to see him. But he’s quite extinct: he couldn’t be Corinthian if he tried.